Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
Gwen Alaran, a
perceptive and intelligent
woman with a career in public relations, could
'
ve been referring to any number of fathers there, but somehow Helen didn
'
t think so.
"
A typical executive loves to dominate,
" Gwen was say
ing.
"
Donald Trump, Lee laccoca—they get off on manipulating people. But him? My guess is that he
'
d rather be in a room with his charts and his laptop than with a dozen members of a board. You know what I think?
"
she added.
"
I think deep down he
'
s shy.
"
"
Shy?
Are you kidding? He
'
s been flirting with every female here.
"
"
No,
"
said Gwen.
"
He
'
s been
acting
like he
'
s flirting.
"
Helen couldn
'
t resist edging into the conversation.
"
Whoever it is you
'
re talking about,
"
she said, smiling,
"
I think I
'
d like to meet him.
"
Gwen
'
s friend, a bosomy thirty-year-old Helen had never seen before, said good-naturedly,
"
Get in line, then, lady. I
'
m ahead of you.
"
Helen laughed while Gwen rolled her eyes and said dryly,
"
Smart move, Carrie. This is the director of The Open Door. Now she knows I
'
ve let you crash the party just to meet Nat Byrne.
"
After introductions, Helen said to Gwen,
"
You really think he
'
s leery of people?
"
"
I do,
"
Gwen decided.
"
He
'
s so intense about his work. I think he
'
s channeling not only all of his ambition but all of his emotions into it. It
'
ll be interesting to see whether someone can reroute that energy.
"
Helen said softly,
"
Maybe it
'
ll be his daughter.
"
"
Maybe it
'
ll be me,
"
said Carrie, arching one eyebrow over a seductive smile.
All three women turned to give Nat Byrne the once-over. He was pushing his daughter, minus her flowered pinafore, on the swing as Katie shrieked,
"
Higher, Daddy! Higher!
"
He looked relaxed and easy, as if he
'
d never seen a computer or an airplane in his life—a doting father from a kinder, simpler time.
Gwen turned to her young friend and looked at her sympathetically.
"
On second thought, Carrie,
"
she said,
"
you
'
d be wasting your time.
"
"
Okay, Katie—kiddo—you asked for it! Sky-high!
"
Nat threatened, pushing her ever so slightly harder. His laugh—rich, ringing, content—sent shivers of joy through Helen.
Linda would love to see this,
she thought, and then wondered whether Linda wasn
'
t seeing it after all. It seemed to Helen that her spirit was part of the benign, gentle mood that pervaded the schoolyard: in some form, in some magical way, she was there, a broken-hearted mother longing to push her daughter on the swing just one more time.
From one mother to another,
Helen said in a silent aside to Linda Byrne,
I
'
d say your little girl
'
s i
n pretty good hands right now.
****
Mrs. Lagor was wiping her son
'
s hands with her fifth or sixth
wet wipe.
"
Don
'
t put your hands in your mouth, Alexander. How many times must I tell you? And after you touch the swings or the slide or anything else, you must come right back so that I can wipe your hands clean. Germs, Alexander! They
'
re everywhere.
"
"
That
'
s so true,
"
said Peaches, pausing alongside during Mrs. Lagor
'
s little sermon.
"
Between all these terrible viruses and scary bacteria, I don
'
t know how we
'
re going to keep our children safe.
"
Mrs. Lagor looked up from her son
'
s sticky hands.
"
I
'
m glad to hear you say that,
"
she told Peaches.
"
Everyone thinks I
'
m paranoid, but—well, really. Read the papers.
"
"
Exactly.
''
"
You look familiar,
"
said Mrs. Lagor, tossing the used towelette into a trash can.
"
Have we met?
"
"
I don
'
t think so,
"
said Peaches in her friendly, outgoing way.
"
I would
'
ve remembered someone with the same standards that I have.
"
Smiling, she reached into her canvas carryall and pulled out a giant-sized container of moist towelettes.
It was like exchanging a secret handshake. Mrs. Lagor gave her a conspiratorial look and said,
"
Isn
'
t it terrible? Flesh-eating bacteria! Rabies! Lyme! Hanta! Ebola! E-coli!
MRSA!
Who can keep up with it anymore?
"
"
I know, I know,
"
said Peaches.
"
And yet we must. I can
'
t understand how some people can be so casual about these threats. Maybe they
'
re just too busy to pay attention.
"
"
Other parents may be too busy, but I
'
m not. I
'
ve made a point of having no other demands on my time. My son
...."
She turned to Alexander and said,
"
You can play for a bit more. But no roughhousing. And don
'
t play with
Tyler
. We don
'
t like him.
"
Turning back to Peaches, Mrs. Lagor finished her thought.
"
My son,
"
she said calmly,
"
is my life.
"
You didn
'
t have to be a rocket scientist to be able to figure that out, Peaches
knew
. She
'
d been watching the woman haul out one
wet wipe
after another, disinfecting everything in sight. A quick trip back to Nat
'
s car for the container of towelettes there, and Peaches had her entr
é
e into a conversation with Mrs. Lagor.
She remembered the day Alexander hurled his little blue train engine at Nat in the lobby of The Open Door; how suspicious and hostile Mrs. Lagor had seemed of Nat in particular and the world in general. She was exactly the kind of mother Peaches was looking for.
They chatted for a while about the dangerous times they lived in, and then Peaches said casually,
"
And let
's
not forget television. Look what it teaches today
'
s kids: sex, violence, perversion. Is it any wonder that teenagers are so twisted nowadays?
"
"
You don
'
t have to tell me,
"
said Mrs. Lagor without taking her gaze from her son.
"
Alexander! No, no, no! No jumping!
"
She added,
"
Alexander has teenage cousins who live in
Boston
, and I must say, they scare me to death. Fortunately we rarely visit.
"
Peaches chose her next words with care.
"
I think the problem with teenagers is that they have no one at home to watch over them. Their parents both work—either by choice or by need—and the kids are left to roam.
"
"
Yes. That
'
s exactly the problem.
"
"
And it doesn
'
t matter if the parents themselves are good or bad people.
"
Peaches lowered her voice and inclined her head to Mrs. Lagor
'
s ear.
"
For example. Do you see that girl in the black dress?
"
"
The one in the straw hat and work boots?
"
asked Mrs. Lagor, clearly disapproving of Becky
'
s taste in clothes.
"
How could I miss her?
"
"
Someone just told me that she was arrested for spray painting a statue in town.
"
"
Awful
creature
! Wait. I know
her ...
.
"
"
That
'
s not the worst of it. I understand that the symbol she painted—her mother went back at once to wipe it away—was a star with two points in the ascendant.
"
Mrs. Lagor gasped.
"
Two points!
"
She added in a whisper,
"
What does that mean?
"
"
Well, it
'
s pretty common knowledge,
"
said Peaches, plucking a towelette from her big yellow container. She beckoned to Katie to come away from the box-castle and get cleaned up.
"
I saw it on the news once.
"
She lowered her voice still more.
"
A pentagram with two points up
... is the sign of Satan.
"
Mrs. Lagor clapped her hand to her mouth.
"
Oh my God,
"
she croaked.
"
A cult.
"
"
You think so, too?
"
asked Peaches with a distressed look on her face.
"
I did wonder.
"
Mrs. Lagor gasped again.
"
Now I recognize her. She
'
s the director
'
s daughter. Betty—
"
"
Becky.
"
"
—Becky Evett. Oh dear God. She watches the little ones all the time. And now that I think of it, she always wears black. Look at her now, playing ring around the rosy with them. For all we know, it
'
s some kind of ritual. Someone should do something!
"
"
There
'
s no proof,
"
Peaches reminded her.
"
The markings were cleaned up too fast.
"
Mrs. Lagor gave her a wide-eyed look.
"
Doesn
'
t that tell you something? Anyway, I can find out. My husband
'
s a
contractor; he knows everyone in
Salem
. Wait till he hears about this. I never should
'
ve let him talk me into this place. It
'
s not even convenient.
"
She looked around restlessly. It was obvious that the news was burning a hole in her tongue.